


Howl

by chagrintrovert



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chagrintrovert/pseuds/chagrintrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Eve’s death, a starving and struggling Adam takes to revisiting some of her favorite places. It’s only fitting that he should make a trip to New Orleans, despite his reservations about the illustrious city. Perhaps spending some time with the newly single front-woman of a local bar band will be just what he needs to reinvigorate himself.</p>
<p>Written for SSS Your Song prompt on tumblr. </p>
<p>Inspired by "Howl" by Florence + The Machine (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZweDwbJ_Ic)</p>
<p>**I do not claim ownership over the characters of Adam and Eve (mentioned only)**</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl

It had been years since Adam had been to New Orleans. He and Eve had always loved visiting the city periodically, but after all the commotion Anne Rice had caused with her books - which were beyond lackluster in his opinion - he’d made a point to stay as far away as possible. And her fans were the worst kind. After ‘76, people from all walks of life were suddenly speaking in poor interpretations of southern gothic dialect and incorporating pretentious sweeping arm gestures into their laughably mundane impersonations of her so-called vampires. For years occultists and believers had flooded the flourishing melding pot of cultures and refined arts, but now the city was filled with smartly opportunistic locals effortlessly capitalizing on the whims and fancies of the these idiotic pseudo-sanguinists visiting their Mecca.

Still, the spicy aroma of étouffée, gumbo, and jambalaya married with the sweet scent of beignets and together they drifted on the breeze and enveloped him like an old friend’s embrace. And he was starving. Perhaps it had been a foolish idea to come here, but the blood in this city always tasted so much better than anywhere else he’d been. The myriad of chefs unique to the area were generous with their spices and relentless with their mirepoix and roux. They used such fresh shrimp and crawfish that he could detect salty hints of ocean water and earthy river sediment in the perfectly seasoned blood of his victims. And the victims were always easy to procure. Most of them were so high on the exhilaration of the city’s nightlife that they failed to realize they had strayed from their friends and gotten lost in the throng of drunken party goers and curious tourists. Often enough they wandered into the slightly too dark alleys where he waited for them with fangs bared in preparation to strike. In the past, he had amused himself on wearisome nights by hunting down members of the vampire fan club and showing them what it was like to die by the proverbial sword. He remembered one young man in particular, a tough-guy greaser in 1957, who had cried and begged for his life as his eyes drifted shut with his limbs sprawled limply on the pavement beside him.

Remembering the faintly spiced flavor of the boy’s blood sent another pang shooting through his stomach. He could feel his veins and arteries shriveling beneath his skin, drying out and cracking as he meandered through the Bourbon Street crowd in search of the perfect victim. He needed someone who wouldn’t be missed right away – or at all – and who wouldn’t put up much of a fight. He was exhausted from his travels and hadn’t fed in days. In his weakened state, he didn’t have the energy or will to give chase to a frantic escapee.

For all the bars and clubs, the brick sidewalk buzzed with a constant bass vibration that tickled its way through the soles of his boots, tingling up his legs and prickling throughout his entire body. The multi-leveled buildings, with their wrought iron balconies and whirring neon signs, created a cocoon that warmed his skin as he weaved his way around occult enthusiasts and sazerac aficionados. The bass line changed outside a small club called Phonetic, enticing enough to beckon him inside. People were packed so tightly on the center dance floor that their only practical methods of dancing were to grind against each other provocatively or else bounce slightly in place. Across the floor from the bar sat a small, rather short platform serving as an intimate stage for the live entertainment. Fronting the band was a voluptuous young woman sporting dusty teal hair and black makeup she had smudged around her grey eyes. Although the current song’s accompaniment was sensual and upbeat, a symphonic celebration of carnal pleasures, the lyrics were a cautionary tale of the emotional fragility, dependence, and heartbreak love can bring. He couldn’t decide if the woman’s rendition reminded him more of a determined battle cry or a harrowed lamentation.

_“Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers_  
_Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters_  
_(Hunters, hunters, hunters_  
_Hunters, hunters, hunters)_  
_The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress_  
_Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest_  
_The saints can’t help me now, the ropes have been unbound_  
_I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground_  
_And howl…”_

She seemed out of place in the band and swayed drunkenly from side to side despite her firm hold on the mic stand. He feared she may actually tumble from the stage, but she remained more or less upright through her set. The song carried over the steamy, barely lit room and settled around him like a summer fog, her voice tinny and distant. It sounded to him like the hollow reverberation of an echo, empty yet brimming with sadness and suffering. He stared blankly at the band, only moving to feebly applaud the end of their set. The woman dragged her hand away from the microphone and hopped aloofly down from the front of the stage.

Across the room, he followed her, mirroring her languid beeline for the bar with no real reason as to why. He needed to feed. He was ravenous and his hunger could spell the end of everyone in the club if it weren’t sated soon. But there was something about her that intrigued him, some kindred melancholy that stirred in him a desire to, at the very least, learn her name before moving on to continue his urban prowling. He calculated his steps, ensuring he would reach the bar just after she chose a stool and sat down. Stepping up beside her, he leaned against the sticky surface of the counter.

Her jaded expression severely aged her otherwise lovely face. A soft, yet defined, jawline framed her profile and twitched as she clenched her teeth. She had coated her full lips with a dark maroon gloss in an attempt to hide – or perhaps to soothe – the skin, shredded and peeling from a chronic habit of worrying them. At the moment, they were pursed around the filtered end of a cheap cigarette as she half mumbled to the bartender a request for her usual drink. Her stormy eyes were duller than he had previously thought now that she was out from under the stage lights. They no longer shined with the tenacity and hope that he could sense she once possessed, rather, they seemed to exude the same full emptiness that her voice had just carried over the heads of the hundred or so dancing bar flies. She blinked slowly as she silently puffed on her cigarette and stared at the various bottles and glassware lining the shelved walls behind the bar. He was, for some reason, mesmerized by her chipped nail polish as she stamped out her smoke and resignedly curled her fingers around the lowball glass the bartender had placed before her.

Having downed the amber colored drink as a shot, she plucked another cigarette from her pack, looked him square in the face, and said, “Listen, pal. You can talk to me or you can leave, but you’re not just gonna stand there and stare at me all fucking night.” She continued to watch him watching her and gestured her dismissal with a flick of her wrist. The intoxicating scent of sharp whiskey, sweet tobacco, and the heady vanilla of her perfume wafted around him, prompting his hunter’s instinct to attack and, at the same time, evoking a more libidinous desire that had remained dormant ever since Eve’s passing.

He fought against the intense urge to pin her against the bar and sink his teeth into the sweat-salted flesh of her neck. He knew she was a bad choice but the mere thought of her spiced and spirituous blood flowing over his parched tongue, bathing his throat, and _finally_ sating his hunger was tempting enough to drive him mad. Before he realized it, he was speaking to her. “I didn’t mean to stare. You’re just so… intriguing.”

Pressing the cherry of her cigarette into the basin of the ashtray, she sighed.

“Oh yeah? What’s so intriguing about me?”

“You’re unlike most people in here. It’s almost as if this is the very last place you want to be. Your song… why are you so sad?”

“Everyone has a sob story. Just imagine anything that thirty-year-olds could be sad about and you’re probably right on the money.”

He leaned a bit closer as the pangs in his stomach became more persistent. “Well, I haven’t been thirty in quite some time, so I’ll just let you keep your secrets.”

She scoffed. “Right. What are you? Like, thirty-five?”

He smiled, barely able to conceal the impatient fangs behind his cracking lips, “Give or take a century or two.”

“Oh, seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re going with the vampire pick-up line? In New Orleans? How original.”

Her shared disdain for the vampire wannabes amused him. “I had to give it a try. Do you want to get out of here?”

She looked him over and - despite his dark and dingy clothes, tousled hair, and ever-present sunglasses - nodded. “You know what? Sure.” She pointed across the room to a tattooed man perched on the edge of the stage, twirling a drumstick between his fingers as he chatted with a tipsy blonde. “You see that guy? The drummer? He just dumped me after six years together, so I think I’m due for some fun with a stranger.”

“I assure you, it will be more than fun. It’ll be a once in a lifetime experience.”

“Well, how can a girl say no to a promise like that?” She threw back the new drink the bartender had placed in front of her and told him to put it on her ex’s tab. “I’m Marielle, by the way.”

He could feel the sharp points of his fangs stinging the inside of his lips as he responded. “Adam.”

Together they drifted through the thinning horde of swaying and slurring people toward the door that served as both entrance and exit. On the street, most people were headed for their houses or hotels and the bar district remained populated only by those partiers who never knew when enough was enough. With only an hour and a half until dawn, Adam knew he was cutting it close, but he couldn’t risk another full day without feeding. He was already starting to feel woozy and… dead, for lack of a better word. His arms felt heavy and his legs and feet were cumbersome at best. He could feel the weight of gravity pressing on his shoulders and his veins rubbed and scraped under his skin like sandpaper. The teal-haired woman walking beside him seemed to move too quickly and her blood called out to him with every motion of her undulating hips, each delicious cell floating purposefully on plasma waves and shouting his name from the life-giving rapids within her. Despite his glasses, the city lights burned his corneas; the whoops and hollered banter between call girls and drunkards grated in his ears, making him wince. A slight breeze stirred Marielle’s hair, her rich vanilla bourbon scent wafting around him in enticing tendrils. He placed one foot in front of the other, propelled himself forward with sheer force of will; but when she turned to ask him which hotel he was staying in, the dam that restrained all of his impulses burst.

With preternatural speed, he lunged for her, wrapping one arm around her waist and clapping the other hand over her mouth. As he pulled her into the narrow alley between a hurricane damaged liquor store and the vacant shell of a novelty shop, he whispered to her through clenched teeth, “I’m so sorry it had to be this way.”

Surprised, she mumbled against his palm to ask what he was doing. He noticed that she didn’t put up a fight or try to scream for help, which was odd but it didn’t concern him. In the dark shadows of the alley, illuminated only by the transient passing of headlights, he turned her to face him and pinned her against the mildewed brick wall.

“Will you scream if I move my hand?”

She shook her head and he hesitated before pulling his hand away from her face. His fangs were nearly impossible to hide and, by the way he felt, he knew that all traces of color had left his skin. To her, he would look pallid and gaunt, a monster with hollow eyes and gnashing teeth who returned her gaze with malicious intent.

He flinched when she suddenly reached up to touch his face. Expecting her to recoil from his tepid flesh, he stood in silent perplexity as she traced his lip with the tip of her finger.

“Can I see?”

He remained impassive for a moment then slowly revealed his teeth with a predatory grin. She let her finger slip from his lip to the point of one descended canine. He nipped at her fingertip and she yanked it back with a delighted squeal.

Puzzled, he squinted at her. “You’re not like the other zombies.”

“Zombies?”

“Human people. You’re different.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I haven’t decided that either.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Noted.”

She gathered her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head to one side. “Go ahead. You look awful. If you kill me, fine. I don’t have anyone to miss me, really. If you don’t, I’ll move somewhere new and make a new life for myself. I’ll take the outcome as a sign. Deal?”

Stepping up to her, he muttered, “Deal,” and dipped his head, sinking his teeth into the salty, perfumed flesh of her neck.

Marielle made no sound other than the resigned sigh that puffed from her nose. Wrapping her arms around him, she relaxed against the wall as if she’d been waiting a very long time for someone to make this decision for her: end it all or start anew. As she relaxed, her blood flowed more freely past the seal of his lips and into his mouth. His felt his veins rehydrating, the circulating nectar plumping them, delivering life and vitality to his body. Only a moment had passed but he could already see through the darkness more clearly. He could hear the spreading petals of night-blooming flowers, the skittering claws of a scavenging opossum, the trickling sound of a bead of sweat sliding between Marielle’s ample breasts. A soft whimper escaped her throat and the tangy musk of her arousal rekindled his earlier desires as she hooked one knee around his hip. Her blood coursed through him and he pressed closer to her, curling his fingers under her knee and grinding his growing hardness against the dampening center of her jeans.

With great effort, Adam withdrew his fangs and they receded into his gums. Marielle watched in awe for a moment then peeled her white tank top over her head and used it to wipe the blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

“Better?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She reached for his neck and pulled him closer. “Now fuck me.”

She pressed her lips against his, teasing her tongue into his mouth and he returned her kiss with unexpected ardor. Her skin was firm and delicate under his hands as he roamed over her body with eager fingers. Her ripped her bra from her chest, exposing the peaks of her nipples to the chilly breeze from the nearby river. He lifted her arms and pinned her wrists against the wall above her head. “Stay.” Kneeling before her, he made quick work of the button and zipper on her jeans and impatiently shimmied the dark wash denim down her hips and over her shoes. Standing back up, he unbuckled his belt and growled as she moved her hands from the wall to the closure of his pants.

“I want to do it.” She deftly slipped the button through its hole and pulled the zipper down. She pushed the dark material to the middle of his thighs, and slid her soft hands over his ass before winding her fingers around his stiff and weeping cock. She gave him a few firm pumps and stroked her thumb over his crown, smiling coyly as she licked the pearl of precum from her finger. “No patience for the whole nine tonight.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward her. “Hard and fast, got it?”

His cock twitched at her assertiveness and he shot her a dark smile. “That can be arranged.” Again employing his inhuman speed and strength, he hoisted her off the ground and guided her legs around his hips as he surged into her in one deep, fluid thrust.

She twined her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pressed her lips against his again. He pulled her away from the wall, opting to hold her up to protect her skin from the abrasive bricks as he thrust into her again. Her slick heat hugged his rigid cock beautifully and every staccato gasp forced from her lungs only made him harder. The slight sting of her nails digging into his shoulder and neck was the perfect accompaniment to the melody of his pleasure, their moans rising in harmonized crescendo. As he plunged into her, the predator in him returned in full force. There was no gentle caress, no caring support for her back; there was only his hands gripping her ass, his cock sliding into her hard and deep. He moved faster and the slick, hot walls of her cunt gripped his cock with each euphorically frictional advance and retreat of his hips. The added pressure drove him crazy and he soon felt the glorious tingling sensation just below his stomach. Her moans became more animal than human, gritty and desperate pleas for release. She clawed at his back, urging him faster, harder until she constricted around him, her arms and legs stiffly clutching at him as her orgasm ripped through her body and she screamed his name. Pummeling into her, he chased his climax, his urgent grunts and the wet sound of their coupling echoing around the alley. He was close, so close. With each increasingly erratic thrust, he ground his pelvis against her clit, sending her spiraling into the depths of another orgasm. He returned his lips to her neck and pierced her flesh with his fangs, greedily drinking her pleasure as his balls tightened and he finally filled her with his own sweet release.

Leaning her back against the wall, he withdrew from her and took a moment to appreciate her flushed cheeks and weak but sated smile. Her clothes were filthy and her bra lay in tatters across the alley. He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders before adjusting his pants and scooping her into his arms. As he stepped out of the alley, he heard her faint whisper.

“Where are we going?”

He smirked. “Somewhere more private. I’m not done with you yet.”


End file.
